An Artist's Passion
by SpectrefoxXIII
Summary: An artist can express their emotions through their art, their hopes and dreams. Yang Xiao Long doesn't realize the significance of her's. Dedicated to Daydreamwiththedragon, happy birthday!


**A/N: Dedicated to a fantastic gal. Happy birthday Ran :)  
**

**Edit: Yes this is an AU, probably should've stated that. So expect OOC Yang and cast**

* * *

She picks up the pencil at a young age. Clumsy, immature fingers try to grab hold of the wooden object. With this she can shape her imagination. Erratic, unclear shapes and scratches are the product of a curious child's mind.

Blonde locks fall across her face. First day of school. Nervous hands clutch a bag, fumbling for a grip. People are already gathered in groups. She steps inside the school, to her classroom, and away from others. She sits at her desk, and begins to do the one thing that comforts her. She draws. What once was clumsy scratches are now coherent lines, petals to a flower, rays to a sun.

The bells ring, everyone steps in. Two girls walk in as a pair, one with marble hair, the other with raven black. The girl with white tresses is in front of her. The other is to her left. She smiles, amber eyes welcoming. The blonde quickly blushes and goes back to work.

"What are you drawing?"

She looks up, the raven haired girl is now crouched at her desk, looking at her paper.

"I'm Blake. That's my sister, Weiss."

"Y-Yang."

Blake cocks her head, and looks at the paper. She's mesmerized by the amateur drawings. Her hand shoots out. "Do you wanna be my friend?"

* * *

Cold. Winter, broken branches. She packs her bag, ready to go home. She stops by the middle school, to pick up her sister. They walk together, the same talk each day. What happened to their parents? Where did they go? Yang doesn't know, she never knew.

They arrive at their home. The home of Blake and Weiss, who they had grown up attached to. Ruby eagerly walked in, bouncing on her heals. Ruby's break had arrived, and she was ready to spend it with their friends.

Yang trotted up the carpeted stairs, to her room, placing her satchel on her bed. Removing the notebook she coveted, she began to convey her feelings. Thoughts of warmth, and family. Blake snuck up on her, plopping on her bed. Her usual tone came out.

"Watcha drawing there?"

Yang would never show anyone her art. Except for Blake. It was a dancer, silhouetted against a moon. A pianist was off to the side, she silhouetted as well. Yang wasn't sure what it conveyed. It was spontaneous. Blake beamed happiness.

"So now you've started to draw your sister and Weiss?"

Yang rolled her eyes. It wasn't specifically those two, but it was inspired by them. Ruby had been learning piano, self taught. Weiss had been a dancer since they met.

"What about us? I see you drawing those two, and sometimes me, but never the both of us?"

She had her reasons. "Well, what would you like me to do?"

Blake held a finger to her lips. "How about this…"

Blake went on to explain the sketch. She watched over Yang's shoulder as the movements began.

The pencil danced on paper. The once innocent and childish drawings are now smooth and crisp lines. A steady hand guides the tool, lines forming features. A hand, a smile. Lips, eyes. A book in the hands of Blake, a notebook in hers. She drew distance between them. They hadn't been growing apart, but Yang didn't feel the same way about Blake as she did when the blonde was a child. There was another feeling now.

The light touches of achromatic colors created a somber scene. Blake pouted, then grabbed the colored tools Yang seldom used.

"Could you add color?"

Yang abhorred color. It always seemed to make things messier. But she decided to, with Blake's wishes. She added purple highlights to Blake's hair, and gold to her own. Soft gold spots became her irises, while purple became Yang's.

What came out was a piece that would predict more than Yang thought. Blake smirked. "See? Color highlights the important stuff."

It was a new perspective on things. Yang took the picture and hung it, and addressed it: by Blake and Yang. The two of them had created something magical.

* * *

It's the beginning of her senior year of school. Notebook out, notes scribbled here and there. Yang chews on a piece of gum, if only to jog her creative processes. She looks around the room, ignoring the arithmetic on the board. Yang stops, and looks at Blake. She was beautiful, even on her laziest day. Yang flipped to a clean sheet of paper, and began her sketch. Charcoal created intense shadows, her kneaded eraser bringing out pure highlights. A small touch of yellow to the eyes gave life to a grayscale drawing.

The bell rang, and Yang quickly gathered her things. Blake mustn't see. She dropped her pencils though, and had to quickly grab them. Raven hair entered her eyesight, and Blake began to help. Yang tried to gather her items as quick as possible, to hide her drawing, but it was too late.

"What are you drawing there?" Blake looked, head cocked, eyes analyzing.

Yang's face gazed down in embarrassment. "You."

Blake blushed, smiled, and then squatted, looking Yang in the eyes. "May I keep it?"

Yang, taken aback, nodded gently. She passed the piece of paper to her friend, who huddled it to her chest. "Thank you Yang. I really adore it." Blake strutted away. Yang grinned to herself, standing and arranged her items in their proper places. Her hand reached for her loose-leaf, when her eyes grew larger. Yang tapped her hand there a few times and realized it was gone. In Blake's hands.

Yang's secrets were in her drawings. Her passion, her dreams. Blake could read them all at any given time. Her crisis was there. What if she judged her? What if she abandoned her?

These thoughts raced through the artist's mind as she ran through the rain to her house. Immersed in water, she unlocked the door, rushing through it. Tears formed on the edges of her eyes. Blake's adoptive mother watched on worried, and called after her. Yang placed her satchel on the floor, and ran up their stairs, to Blake's room. She heard nothing. Gold locks flew as she rushed in, water dripping from each end. Blake looked up from the notebook. She stood, walking over to Yang, and held her close. Open to the page was several more sketches of Blake, notes scribbled to the side.

But the main one was a portrait of Blake, with a subheading: 'To the girl I love- Yang'.

Yang looked up, Blake caressing her golden locks. Yellow clashed with black, and Blake lowered her lips to Yang's.

"I told you, I loved it. And every other piece you've ever done."

Yang coughed, tears slowly drying. The rain drowned out any noise, as they stood there in the room. Shadows danced around the room, and they still stood. Purple with gold, light strokes across a face, or a lock of hands. A touch of lips, a smell of lavender.

And Blake was the only one who'd ever know, about the art they made.

* * *

A ray of sunshine, a petal in the breeze. Unblemished tablecloths sat, the fabric slightly blowing with the wind. A gathering of close friends and family. Yellow locks no longer fell into her face, as she put her hair up. Her form was long and elegant, a trail behind her. Her sister smiled, and looked up at Yang.

"Dad would've loved this. You look beautiful Yang."

Yang did. She wore a long sun-struck dress, matching the locks of her hair. It was a day she had only dreamt of growing up. One that always had a saved spot in her notebook. Yang stepped outside her room, where Weiss and Ruby clung to each other. Yang turned and walked down the hall, towards the open garden area. Two dozen or so people sat at a long table, and all stood, admiring the bride. Of course, the other bride would be arriving soon.

Yang took her spot at the altar, and waited. Blake stepped out, in a long black dress, reminiscent of her hair. Lavender shone when the light hit it right, and a dash of it could be seen in her hair.

Blake refused to wear anything similar to a long flowing dress. She strutted down the aisle, and up to her bride. Cupping her hands, they each spoke softly, reciting words of union to each other.

Once more, on that day, gold dashed and mixed with raven, as the two engaged in the dance that sealed them. A kiss, and caressing hand. A day of their lives. A portrait done only by the hands of two artists. A piano sounded their synchronization in the distance, in tune with the beats of their hearts.

Once, Yang created clumsy strokes of curiosity. Now, she weaved beautiful flourishes with the devotion of her bond.


End file.
